Tripping
by the ersatz diplomat
Summary: "It's not flirting. It's witty repartee." Harry Dresden rejects your reality and substitutes his own. Rated for language, unintentional drug use and offscreen violence. Warnings for absurd premise, creative anachronism and mentions of David Bowie.


**Author's Note:** Okay (deep breath), so this is kind of inspired by the Felix Felicis scene in _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince._ It's my favorite scene in the HP series (and in the movies, especially), just because of how very surreal it is. The potion itself is a really interesting concept. And I was thinking to myself* that, had it been the Dresdenverse, instead of a cool potion like that it would have been something really twisted and have some kind of awful side effect…

…And so here we are_. _I feel I should apologize in advance, because of course this would never happen in the DV, but once the idea was in my head, it had to be done, and has been sitting stale on my hard drive for a while.

*My mind is a dangerous place. Never go unarmed.

EDIT: Whoa, big block of text missing from the story when I uploaded it, and this, my children, is why we don't drink rum when we edit.

* * *

><p>Over the years, my cases have taken me to some odd locations and I've ended up doing some pretty weird stuff. This carries a little more weight for me than it would for your average, everyday mortal, since I'm a wizard – one of the people for whom the word 'weird' was invented.<p>

All this to say that standing in a red and gold striped tent with a medieval peasant woman and a knight of Camelot? Well. That's actually… kind of normal.

There was a growling noise from the far side of a wooden screen and a leather motocross jacket flew over it. I caught it and handed it to the peasant woman standing next to me, who just so happened to be in charge of the costume tent at the local renaissance fair.

"Having problems, Murph?"

The voice on the other side of the screen muttered something about handcuffs and the trunk of her car. This was my case instead of hers, for once, and I'd asked her along 'cause you never know when you might need a tiny blonde woman to open up a can of whoop-ass for you.

But I get the distinct impression she doesn't like going to fairs with me.

And who could blame her, after that last one.

In comparison, our current case is almost funny. Some no-account Dim Lord had been making a potion that mimicked the effects of rohypnol and was undetectable in blood tests. He'd been dosing a few unsuspecting mortals, putting the mental whammy on them to do all sorts of things, such as empty their bank accounts, give up passwords and cash in insurance policies, with the odd liquor store robbery and a few instances of public indecency thrown in. And these poor people had no idea what had happened until they regained lucidity, sometimes in a holding cell or a hospital room.

I'm not cool with that. Especially not with recent events unfolding the way they have. And this case may not have been as twisted as the Red Court vampiress putting love spells on people, or as insidious as Peabody's multiple counts of mindfucking, and maybe it hits a little too close to home for me, but I just don't have any sympathy for jerks like that.

And unfortunately for them, it's my job to shut 'em down.

Another clearly exasperated sound was followed by a pair of jeans tossed over the top of the screen, then a white button-down shirt. A blonde head poked around the corner and glared at me for a moment, then disappeared.

"This is bullshit, Harry."

"The lady doth protest too much," I said, and winked at the costumer, who grinned and handed me a black cloak made of cheap fabric. "We have the advantage for once – it's called 'the element of surprise.'"

Karrin grumbled something four-lettered under her breath. "I'll surprise you, alright."

So maybe I was enjoying this just a little. So sue me.

"Go for it. You know, it's funny, 'cause it's usually _me_ that sticks out like a sore thumb when we're on a case," I said as I put on the cloak. The costumer turned to me and held out a fake leather helmet…

A fake leather helmet, adorned with fake curling ram horns. You may have seen one like it, if you've ever met an enchanter named Tim.

"Uh-uh. Nope. Not happening."

The knight sitting across from me snickered. "Come on now, Harry. Put on your robe and wizard hat."

I glowered at both of them and took the helmet, holding it under my arm. "Shut it, Sir Galahad."

Carlos Ramirez was perched on one of the half-dozen wooden trunks in the tent. Instead of his typical Warden gear of jeans, Desert Eagle and concert tee, he wore authentic-looking chainmail, a metal plated gauntlet and a long red cloak. His own sword was in the belt at his waist. He jumped up and bowed gallantly when Murphy stomped out from behind the screen.

She ignored him, busy adjusting the shoulder rig holding one of her various sidearms. The gun was really… anachronistic, I guess, with her outfit, a dark gray medieval number that was cut a bit lower in the, uh, the front than anything she usually wore. Her hair was braided and little wisps escaped around her face.

She scowled, mostly at me, pulling a long cream-colored vest over the gun and gown. I could see the toes of her motorcycle boots poking out from beneath the hem of the skirt. She looked good.

… Angry, but good.

Karrin crossed her arms and glared up at me, blue eyes blazing, evidently unaware that I could see down the front of her dress. I decided to go the professional route and not tell her because, you know, gun.

"Not one word, Dresden. Not one. Do you understand me?"

I glared back at her and jammed the helmet down over my ears. The thin line of her lips twitched and her nose wrinkled and she might have almost smiled. And then she turned and stalked out, throwing the tent door-curtain aside as she went.

"You heard the woman. Let's get this show on the road," I said to Carlos as I took up my staff, and we followed her out into a sunny afternoon filled with faint music, lots of laughing, the clash of armor and the smell of food.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong," asked Ramirez, hurrying alongside me, "But we get to watch when she whips out a sword and kills the Witch-King of Angmar, am I right?"

"Absolutely. Center court seats and everything."

"Heard that," Murph called over her shoulder.

"It was a compliment!" Carlos shot back, and then said to me in a lower voice, "Harry, you hang out with some really interesting women."

I raised an eyebrow, Spock-like.

"Heard that, too."

"Just sayin', is all."

The fair was situated in the middle of a rather large park in a suburb of the Windy City. We found a square of concrete in the grassy alleyway behind rows of booths and I started digging through my pockets. Carlos and Murph stood back a few feet, looking around, talking.

"How good is his information?" Ramirez asked.

"It's usually pretty good."

"Maybe I'm missing something, but I'm still not sure why we needed a pepperoni pizza at eight in the morning."

"Pizza is an entirely necessary part of the process," said Karrin, gesturing vaguely toward me as I sketched a circle with a piece of chalk. "There's a method to the madness. At least, I think there is. Maybe."

"Who could tell?" I said, and got a genuine, albeit brief, smile.

Ramirez cleared his throat, looking between us, and raised an eyebrow at me.

I'd invited Carlos along for backup, not that I expected there to be a lot of trouble. And definitely not as an excuse to drink beer and trade conspiracy theories about the darker forces moving within our own Council. No way.

All morning, though, he'd been giving me funny looks. I tried to give him the _"Shut up, you tool," _face, but found my meaning wasn't properly conveyed.

"That's some bad hat, Harry. I think it's pretty cunning, how 'bout you, Sarge?" He elbowed Murph and they exchanged a significant look.

"A man walks down the street in that hat, people know he's not afraid of anything," she said, and I stared at her with my mouth open. She laughed – that mock-derisive, delighted little cackle that means she's gotten one over on me. I like that laugh.

"I think you just blew his mind," Carlos mused as I blinked a few times and turned back to my circle, grinning.

When working magic on sidewalks in a city as diverse as Chicago, it's typical to not get a second glance.

Here, I didn't even get a first. I closed the chalk circle with a little effort and took an envelope from my pocket. Inside was a metal dart tipped with a hollow needle, with a tuft of iridescent black feathers on the end – a piece of evidence provided by one of the half-dozen victims, who (recognizing weird when he saw it) had hired me to look into it.

I tied a piece of string to the middle of the dart, linked it to the perp with a slick bit of thaumaturgy and broke the circle, scuffing the chalk with the toe of my boot. As the circle fell, there was the sharp little _pop_ of energy and the dart seemed to magnetize. For a moment it swung indecisively at the end of the string, then the needle settled in one direction – southeast. After a few rinse and repeats, we got a location pinned down…

And ended up across from a booth labeled _'Ye Olde Apothecary,'_ in the very last row, backed up against a tall hedge.

"Wow," Murphy said flatly. "What a twist."

I raised a hand. "Silence, wench!"

"Tell me, Dresden, did you go to a special school to learn how to be such a giant pain in my ass, or is it just one of your many natural talents?"

"You know how I do," I said. "Inigo, cover the exit. Princess Buttercup, you're with me."

Carlos saluted lazily and vanished around a corner.

Karrin snorted and followed me down the row of booths to a white canvas tent. Only a handful of people were wandering down the row and most of them cleared out as we approached. I'd like to think it was me that was so intimidating, but let's be honest, here – Murph is way scarier, even in a cute dress.

We stopped at the apothecary tent, looking around at the wares. There were tall amber bottles and little glass vials in rows on the table, baskets of ingredients, some of which I recognized, and bundles of dried plants hanging from the roof, some of which looked a tad illegal.

A short, heavyset balding man with round, watery gray eyes and a patchy beard stared at us over the table. He was middle-aged and wearing a monk's brown robe, belted with a length of rope and stained with what I hoped was food.

"Hi," I said, picking up a business card which read _Herbert Hemloch's Herbal and Holistic Remedies_ in a Gothic-y blackletter print, like they'd just rolled off the Gutenberg press. The name was one I'd never heard. "You must be new in town, huh?"

"Uh. Yeah. Can I help you?"

"Yeah," I said, acting interested. "How fresh is your eye of newt, there, Herb?"

He blinked at me. "Eye of—"

"How about toe of frog? No? Polyjuice potion? Iocane powder?"

"I don't have any of—"

I held up the dart. "Then maybe you could tell me what this is."

His eyes widened even further – something I hadn't thought humanly possible, and his mouth opened and shut wordlessly. Definitely our perp. He hadn't started running, though, or fighting, which meant—

"He has no idea who we are," Murph said, thoughtfully.

"Well then, howsabout a little demonstration?" I pocketed the dart, focused my will, and the business card between my gloved fingers burst into flame.

Karrin held aside her vest to flash a gun and CPD badge. She smiled fiercely as I closed my hand around the burning card, extinguished the flame and dropped the charred paper on the table between us.

"What manner of man are you that can summon up fire without flint or tinder?"

"Take me, Sergeant. Take me hard."

Herbert inched backwards, one hand groping at a pocket of his robe as if for a weapon. Murph drew her gun just as he threw a glass vial at us. It hit the table and exploded into a screen of acrid gray-green smoke. There was the squishy crunch of a fist meeting a face, a swear in Spanish and a rough evocation that blew the tent stakes out of the ground. It collapsed and we stumbled backwards, coughing. I could hear the screams of a few patrons as they high-tailed it out of the vicinity of the ensuing weirdness.

"_Ventas servitas!" _I shouted, holding out a hand toward the cloud of smoke and it cleared away, pushed on by the conjured wind.

"Was _this_ part of your plan?" Murphy demanded, coughing and fanning the air with one hand.

"…Um. Yes. Of course it was."

"I love this plan!" the Carlos-shaped lump beneath the tent yelled as he sliced his way out of the canvas with his sword. "I'm excited to be a part of it! Where'd he go?"

Herb, his nose bleeding profusely, ran along the row of tents, moving fast for a heavy guy. He shouldered open a gate in the hedgerow and we followed him, sliding to a stop in a small gravel courtyard bordered by high, leafy green walls. It was empty except for a few flowerbeds, some plaster statues and a small fountain. One arched entrance led into a shadowy passageway between, you guessed it, more hedges.

"Crap," said Ramirez, looking around. "Not this again."

Murphy and I exchanged a confused look behind his back. Why the hell there was a twenty-foot tall hedge labyrinth in the middle of the Chicago suburbs was puzzling, but, as a testament to how much weirdness we deal with on a daily basis, nobody questioned it aloud.

The sounds of the fair were muted, as if they were much further off than the other side of the hedge. The late afternoon light fell at an angle that cast the north-south pathways of the maze in blue shadows, and the intersections were bathed in a greenish light. It might have been pretty if it wasn't so damned unnerving.

Karrin took point as we walked through, holding her gun down at her side as she peered around a corner. The sunlight glinted off the silver shield pendant of her necklace – one I had given her a few years ago— and picked up the highlights in her pale gold hair, which had fallen loose around her face. She stopped a few feet ahead of me and, being too busy staring to notice, I almost ran into her.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Got a question for you, Dresden."

"Yeah?"

She smirked at me over her shoulder. "Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"You're a wizard, Harry," Carlos chimed in from behind us with an awful attempt at a British accent.

"Nerds! You guys know this is the way to the Goblin City, right?"

"You know, Sergeant, you remind me of someone," said a grinning Ramirez.

"Who? Murphy asked, perturbed, then blinked. "Ah, dammit!"

"You remind me of the babe—"

"What babe—"

"Don't you guys think this is creepy enough _without_ the mental image of David Bowie in tights?" Karrin interrupted with an expression of distaste.

"The babe with the power," Carlos continued, undeterred.

"You're welcome," I said and she rolled her eyes, but smiled.

In retrospect, what happened next, well... I really should have seen it coming.

We rounded another bend in the maze and from the corner of my eye I caught an odd flicker of color and felt the burst of magic that accompanies a poorly-executed veil.

"Shields up!" I shouted at Ramirez as I caught Murph by the arm, pulled her backwards and turned, putting her between me and the hedge. I didn't get my own shield ready in time and there was a brief, stinging pain in the back of my neck, just above the collar of my duster.

I heard the thumps of several darts as they hit my duster, the hiss of a few more disintegrating in Ramirez's shield. When I pulled my fingers away from my neck, there was a black feathered dart in my hand.

…Which suddenly felt a little tingly. The ground shifted beneath my feet.

"Aw, crap."

Karrin pulled away from me, raised her gun and fired a few rounds toward the rippling color of the veil, which fell as Hemloch screamed. One of the shots had grazed him – he clutched his arm and raised the opposite hand toward Murph, snarling a word in a language I didn't know.

She let out a pained swear and the gun fell from her hands– the metal glowed red-hot and the plastic pieces bubbled, smoking. I tried to take a step toward him and my knees buckled. I clung to my staff as the ground did the Tilt-a-Whirl thing again.

"It's okay, you guys. I've got this. No, really!" Carlos shouted as he drew his sword and started running after Herbert as he fled. Instead of trying to navigate the pathways of the labyrinth, Ramirez raised his left hand and blew a hole through the hedge.

"Don't tell me I have to rescue your skinny ass again, Dresden," Murphy said in what was probably supposed to be an annoyed tone, but there was fury and panic in her voice. Her hands were blistered, but she grabbed my arms in an attempt to help me stand. I slid to the ground anyway, laughing and Novocain-numb all over.

"Aren't you a little short for a shieldmaiden of Rohan?"

"Dammit, Harry." She knelt next to me in the gravel and pulled the stupid hat off my head. My vision was going a little blurry, but she was close enough I could see her eyes burning with the same kind of wrath I had seen a few weeks ago when she put several dozen rounds into a Red Court vampire.

"Listen to me. Pay attention," she said, her hands on my face and then my shoulders, my chest. She reached into my coat and got my .44 from its holster. "I need to borrow this, so if he comes back this way, I dunno, turn him into a squirrel or something, alright?"

And then she kissed me, her mouth warm and soft against mine for a sweet, burning second that I may have imagined entirely.

Then she was gone, disappearing around the corner with the giant revolver in her hands.

I felt a little strange.

And then I felt fucking _great_.

And that, of course, is when I blacked out.

* * *

><p>"I think he's coming out of it."<p>

Somebody was slapping me. Not hard, just enough to sting a little, but man, it was annoying. I felt myself draw my fist back to return the favor and pair of small, warm hands caught my wrists.

I shook my head and blinked a few times, and then stared into a pair of worried blue eyes.

Murphy, then.

We were in my apartment. Judging by the light, it was almost sunset. She was kneeling next to me, wearing a pair of oversized black shorts and an old t-shirt. Both mine, I realized, and I consider the fact that I'm never coherent when this happens to be incontrovertible proof that the universe is conspiring against me.

"Hello, Karrin," I said. She looked away immediately, her eyes downcast, and her hands tightened around my wrists in a way that was more reassurance than restraint. "Should I be, uh. Should I be apologizing for something?"

She rolled her eyes and let go of me. "Told you guys he'd be okay."

"Look up here," somebody said, so I did, and a blinding pain shot through my head as a court jester shined a keychain flashlight in my eyes.

Yeah. I know. It didn't make sense to me, either, until he turned off the light and I saw who it was.

"Hey, Butters."

"Hi, Harry," the ME said, then sat down next to me, grabbed my arm and started taking my pulse. "How are you feeling?"

"Awesome. No. Wrong word," I said, as another flash of pain ricocheted around inside my skull. "Awful."

"Are you feeling nauseated? Any renal failure I should know about?"

"Just a headache. What the hell happened?"

The red-cloaked knight sitting on the arm of the sofa started laughing. His arm was in a sling.

"Dude. You got hit with one of those poisoned darts."

"I remember _that_. I mean what happened to our perp?"

I looked at Murph, whose expression was dark. Her knuckles were scraped and there were bandages on her wrist and hands. The dress she'd been wearing had been haphazardly thrown across the recliner and I could see splattery reddish-brown stains on the gray fabric.

"There was an altercation," said Butters.

"Fucker bit me," said Karrin.

Another wave of agony made me press my fingertips against my forehead, this time accompanied by a white-hot rage that compelled me to find the guy and break his face for him. I reached into my duster pocket for my keys, and found I wasn't wearing it.

I tried to stand up and the room immediately began to spin. Somebody put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down to the couch, where I sat, blinking.

I wasn't wearing the hat anymore, or the black cloak. My boots were missing and I was down to my jeans and an army-green t-shirt with a zombie on it that read _Occupy Atlanta._

"Where the hell are my boots? And my keys?" I asked, looking at Murph. I tried to stand up again and she grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

"I'm gonna find him and tear him a new—"

"It's done, man," Carlos interrupted. "I called in some backup and a pair of Wardens escorted our good friend Herbie to Edinburgh."

"So I missed all the fun?"

They looked at each other. Ramirez made a face, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Well…"

"You got hit with the same thing the rest of those people were drugged with." Butters said, pushing his glasses up with one finger. "The compound eliminates inhibition, which opens the mind to suggestion while causing short term memory loss _without_ reducing cognitive function. From what you and Molly were telling me about potions, I'm sure it's got some kind some really bad stuff in it, possibly some modern pharma—"

He stopped mid-word and shook his head, realizing that we were all staring blankly at him.

"Anyway, with no one making subconscious suggestions, you kind of just…wandered off. Murph called me and luckily, I was already at the fair," he pointed at his jester hat, "And we found you with the band."

"The wha…?"

"The band. The guys playing music?"

"I don't remember that."

Karrin nodded. "Yeah. When we finally found you, somebody had given you a guitar and you guys were playing a song and a bunch of SCA weirdos were dancing—"

"Hey," Butters said, indignantly. "I resemble that remark."

"And then you threatened to turn one of the knights into a hedgehog," she continued, "And we were asked to leave."

I put my head in my hands and sat there for a minute. "Really?"

"It was actually pretty decent," said Carlos. "And all this time you've been telling us you don't do entertainment."

"Good one." Murph held out a hand for a fist bump, then she patted me on the shoulder and stood up, stretching a little. "I'm gonna go pick up some food. Any preferences?"

I shrugged and the other two made non-committal noises.

"Burgers it is," she said and disappeared out the door into a rectangle of sunset light, jingling her keys. A few seconds later I heard the growl of a motorcycle engine and the crunch of tires on gravel.

The knight and court jester sat down on either side of me and each snapped open a beer.

…Like I said. My life is weird.

Carlos handed me a can of Coke and there was a beat of silence between me taking a sip and him asking,

"So. You and the cop chick, huh?"

"What?" I sputtered. "No?"

"No?" He echoed, smirking.

"No. We're just friends. And if you value your anatomy, you won't let her hear you call her that."

"Friends. Uh-huh," he said skeptically, cleared his throat and did a decent impression of me. "Take me, Sergeant, take me hard?"

"We always joke like that," I said, not even a little bit defensively. Jeez.

Butters nodded. "It's true, they do—"

"See?"

"But to be honest," he continued, grinning, "I totally thought they were doing it. You know. After I figured out that Harry wasn't gay."

"No. Not doing it," I insisted over the sound of insane laughter. "Most decidedly _not_ doing it. Or anything. With anybody. 'Specially her."

Carlos stopped howling long enough gave me a dubious look. "Anybody who flirts that much has to have _something_ going on—"

"It's not flirting. It's witty repartee."

"Right," my two so-called friends said in skeptical stereo. They weren't too far off the mark, but I wasn't about to tell them that.

Murph and I have a very solid, very platonic relationship, and have had for a long time, at least up until a few weeks ago when we'd been hit with a spell at the State Fair while trying to solve a case. Not a very nice spell, either – icky black magic that impersonated love and had already driven several people to suicide.

We'd almost fallen for it. Had wanted to fall for it, even after we figured it out. Had kissed a few times, which was something I couldn't seem to get out of my head.

It hadn't felt right, after the enchantment had been undone. It had felt good before, though.

Really, _really_ good. But right and good aren't always the same thing, and I was still trying to sort out what had been the spell and what had been real.

I sank a little lower into the sofa and ran both hands through my hair. The sharp flashes of agony had turned into a dull, bothersome ache.

"Guys. I didn't do anything, um. Inappropriate?"

"No. Well," Butters said hesitantly, "Murphy was sitting in the back of the Beetle with you, and I don't know what you were whispering about, but I've never heard her laugh like that before in my life. I didn't even know she _could_."

I looked at Ramirez for confirmation, but he shrugged. "I was following on the bike."

"Hell's bells," I said, sinking even further into the couch.

"I should visit Chicago more often,_" _Carlos said, laughing. "We always do the coolest shit."

"No kidding. Harry's the only I guy know who would try to turn a perfectly good renfaire into some kind of dark ages Lollapalooza."

"You have to admit, though, that cover of the Mos Eisley Cantina Song was legendary."

"I know, right? With the bagpipes? Karrin recorded most of it on her phone."

"What?" I heard myself say.

The ME nodded and the bells on his hat chimed. "I didn't think the video would turn out, but I guess we were far enough away—"

"_What?" _I said again_. _"Video? You're screwing with me."

They both stared innocently at me. _Too_ innocently.

"If Thomas," I glared at Butters, "Or Molly," I said, turning on Carlos, "Ever hear _anything_ about this, it's squirrels. For the both of yous."

Butters blinked at me from behind his glasses. "Can you even do that?"

"Speaking of the lovely and fearsome Molly," Carlos said, not quite looking me in the eye. "I kind of promised I'd stop by and say hello…?"

"Go. She's with Mouse, they're babysitting the horde today."

He ruffled my hair and jumped up, grabbing the keys to the Beetle from the coffee table, where my .44 was sitting next to a first aid kit. "Thanks, Pops."

"Aren't you gonna change out of the armor?" Butters asked.

"Hell, no." He paused at the door and brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder. "I look good."

Butters left a few minutes later, taking the remains of our costumes with him, and I flopped down on the sofa and waited for the headache to subside.

About half an hour passed before the door creaked open again and I realized what they'd done, the bastards – left me here to face Karrin by myself. I made a mental note to look into a squirrel transmogrification spell and sat up, rubbing my eyes.

Murphy was wearing her own clothes again, carrying a few paper bags of fast food.

"Look who's back to his grumpy wizard self."

"Grrr," I said, shaking my fist halfheartedly. "Argh."

"Where did the guys go?"

"Carlos went to see Molly. Butters went back to the fair."

"Losers," she said, dropping the Burger King bags on the coffee table. "More for us, then."

She got a Diet Coke from the icebox and sat down next to me as I looked through the food and claimed the onion rings. A long, silent minute passed before she spoke.

"You scared me today." Karrin didn't look at me when she said it, staring intently at the nutritional facts on her can of Coke. "After we caught whatsisface. I came back to get you and you were gone."

"Sorry," I said. "Not on my game today, I guess."

"I know the feeling," she said, tracing one finger around the edge of the can. I picked up my revolver from the table and flicked open the cylinder. Two rounds were missing.

"Did you shoot him?"

"Technically, you shot him," she said, and I raised an eyebrow. "Carlos said that according to White Council protocol, if a Warden is incapacitated in a situation involving mental manipulation, there's supposed to be a formal inquiry. He said you catch enough hell already and left that part, and me, out of the report."

"Oh. So where did I shoot him?"

"Kneecaps." She pursed her lips. "That asshole ruined your friend's new Beretta. He had it coming."

I smiled and so did she.

"Weird day," I said, taking a sip of my Coke.

"Yeah."

"I just want to apologize, you know, if I said anything—"

"No," she stopped me, holding up a hand. "It's okay."

"Listen, Karrin, I— You. Uh. "

She stared up at me, wide-eyed. Her cheeks had turned pink.

We're definitely not the cue dramatic music type, but I know the way I feel about her isn't some counterfeit infatuation cooked up by a spell. She's awesome and funny and considerate, intelligent and unrepentantly badass and the best friend anyone could ever have. Completely unaware of how gorgeous she is. A hell of a kisser.

…And dating someone else.

And yeah, we've both come away from relationships with scars, and yeah, it hurts to think about what would happen if it didn't work out between us, but I understand. I know why we make the excuses, why we sabotage ourselves every time we get too close.

You can't lose what you don't have.

I covered her hand with mine on the sofa between us, and kissed her on the cheek.

"I don't know what I'd do without you."

Murph leaned her head against my shoulder for a moment and then laughed, reaching for the fries.

"Pursue a career in music, obviously."

"Yeah," I winced. "Butters said something about a video—"

"Already on YouTube."

"Really?"

"No, you dork." She threw a french fry at me. "I would never expose all those innocent people on the internet to your dark influences."

"So you're keeping the evidence for blackmailing purposes, naturally."

"Oh, definitely," she said, blue eyes sparkling. "Hey, I saved a souvenir for you."

Karrin reached under the coffee table, brought out the godawful helmet I'd been wearing all afternoon and put it on.

"You have to admit, it _is_ a pretty cunning hat."

I grinned and threw an onion ring at her and we both went back to pretending it had been a day like any other.

We're good at that, by now.

* * *

><p>R&amp;R, baby.<p> 


End file.
